


Blades That Sing (And Love That Burns)

by Chimiiko



Category: Raya and the Last Dragon (2021)
Genre: AU! Kumandra, Angry Makeouts, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Everything's a power struggle between them, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, It's Kumandra but with no dragons, Just gals being pals, Marking, Raya 24/7: are we fighting or about to fuck cause i can't really tell, Raya and Namaari are literally so gay, Tension, but its sexcy, but only for like two chapters loll, i-was-trying-to-kill-u-but-now-u-look-hot-so-lets-kiss, lesbeans, mild slowburn, rayaari, sisu is a human, so much flirting make it stop, switch namaari, switch raya, that sometimes make out u know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 21:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimiiko/pseuds/Chimiiko
Summary: “You look a little lost, princess.”Raya’s brows quirk. No sort of formality is offered, despite the clear acknowledgement of her as princess of the strongest nation on their planet. This will be interesting.“And where else should someone such as myself be at this hour?”The unchaste flash of eyes down her figure is absolutely deliberate, and for a moment Raya is lost for words. Namaari grins."I could think of a couple places.”-Kumandra is ruled by princess Raya’s unbearable step mother, but when Raya is kidnapped by the fearsome Fang rebels in hopes of gaining leverage over the Heartland queen she learns that her step mother’s tormential behavior extends far beyond the walls of her own home. Namaari is the daughter of the Fang chief, and her interest in princess Raya reaches slightly beyond that of captor and prisoner - but as the war for equality rages on across the lands, each must choose between the pursuit of an attraction that promises something more or standing behind the people they love.ORMonarchy-based AU! Kumandra in which Raya is interested in RageTM, Namaari is interested in Raya, and everything kinda goes to shit at least once or five times.
Relationships: Namaari/Raya (Disney)
Comments: 120
Kudos: 260





	1. With The Heat of The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg heeEEEYYY  
> So uhhh here take this impulsive Rayaari fic I stayed up till 3am writing two nights in a row bc I've already seen this movie twice and they r literally girlfriends. Do it regret anything? ...No. 
> 
> Just for reader knowledge, this fic is set in the land of "Kumandra", but it's kind of an AU where dragons don't exist and the Heartland is the main seat of the monarchy while each of the other nations are more like cultural regions still under its control. 
> 
> Also check out [THIS](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4mszsudCe9SwFI7vC1XUXO?si=NVu-KVz1QC-Zl3vEZzn4tw) playlist I'm making for this fic >:)) 
> 
> Anygays - without any further ado, lets get to the useless lesbians!!!

Everywhere she turns yields the gleam of another embroidered silk gown, endless sparkling golden trinkets, and feathers on fur on leather. To her left looms the stretched smile of a waiter offering alcohol in tiny glasses which make it seem like a classy refreshment instead of what gets all of these people through their nights. Most blatantly, of course: behind the ornately decorated masks in the forms of peacocks and tigers and butterflies there are the dull, far-away gazes of those with too much time left to live and not nearly enough life to fill it all. 

Raya’s feet ache in her too-tight shoes. They match her cinched dress, which forms a stiff wreath around her neck before falling to her toes in a flurry of red and gold, criss-crossed with finely crafted feathers similar to those decorating the ones on her own mask. It covers only the top left portion of her face - she wouldn’t allow any further restriction of her vision - and is supposed to resemble some sort of bird, although it looks more like roadkill in her opinion. The look is complete with a dainty pair of earrings and overelaborate hairstyle - the braiding of which took several years off of her life to suffer through. 

It’s horrific. Even despite the private chef’s concordance with her request for mango Che Xoai to be served through all hours of the night, she would rather climb the never ending footpaths of hell than continue to be subjected to this prudish, uncomfortable, and overall loathsome environment adorned with even nastier company. Unfortunately for everybody involved, the woman in charge of this party just so happens to be the queen of hell on earth. And unfortunately for Raya, this woman also happens to be her step mother. 

On cue, Raya hears her name strung among notes of flute and flippant chatter. 

“Raya, dearest.” 

A scowl tugs at Raya’s mouth. She swallows it down in time to turn and face her step mother, sporting a sickly sweet smile to mirror the one on the other woman’s thin lips. Despite nearly twelve years of practice, she can barely keep the sneer from her tone. 

“Mutya.” 

A short curtsy, but Raya’s eyes never lower. Mutya’s head tips slightly, and Raya cherishes the tiny display of irritation. Since her father’s death, the woman has been nothing but a menace to her and all of Heartland society. Without Benja in the way, she’d quickly crowned herself queen and set about altering many of the policies which had been in place for decades. One of the first within her own home had been restricting Raya’s travel to anywhere outside “designated” areas of the city and palace grounds. Of course, that little mandate didn’t do much besides make Raya better at memorizing the guards’ clock schedule, but it was the first straw of many to be broken over their less-than-friendly relationship - if you could even call it that. 

Now, Mutya’s hands clasp in front of her, perfect nails falling delicately over each other in front of her small waist. 

“Your posture is sloppy, dear.” Then, without skipping a beat: “Please ensure you speak with the Sultan Ramil and his wife - they travelled a long way to make a trade deal and expect a conversation with the daughter of the late king, whom they claim to have known well.” A cruel curl of her lip reveals obvious discontent with Raya being a more highly requested conversation than herself, but her tone of voice never wavers. “I believe I last saw them by the north tapestry.” 

Raya opens her mouth to speak, but Mutya is already turning away. 

“And do try and look less like an enraged paddy fielder when you stand - it’s quite unpleasant on the eyes.” 

Raya stands shock still for a few moments, her blood boiling to steam throughout her whole body. How _dare_ she be spoken to like that - Sutya may be queen, but Raya is still the princess of the Heartland. Usually her attacks are far more subtle, but tonight something must have her pissed beyond measure to pull an exchange like that in public. Raya’s half convinced herself to go storming after her step mother and hand out a hefty piece of her mind, but just before she’s angered herself into a task which would likely get her banned from the dining hall for a month, a flash of white and gold catches the edge of her vision. 

_That’s odd._

Usually, attendees to this kind of party don colors brighter than the sun. It’s all a pitious attempt at displaying wealth, really: silk gowns are expensive, but dyed silk is enough to make a grown man cry. 

Shoving her anger aside for just a moment to make room for curiosity, Raya turns her head. She’s just barely in time to see a sliver of white disappear between swaying bodies. Curiosity begins to shoulder anger out of the way. 

Suddenly, she’s overcome by an intense desire to follow the ghost. Likely it’s just some woman new to the class game, but Raya can’t help but feel intrigued by the prospect of something more. Her feet are in motion before her body registers it, and her anger at Mutya fades to its regular dull throb as she jumps into pursuit. The dress shouldn’t be too hard to spot; it stuck out among the rainbow of garnished color, and Raya’s eyes roam with purpose across the massive, open-walled room. Above, hanging balls glow with light and illuminate the ballroom from the inside out. Massive marble pillars supporting the roof around the perimeter are adorned with gleaming candleholders, though the light they emit is dusty at best and casts long shadows onto the floor. 

After a few minutes of speed-walking the direction the woman had gone, Raya begins to feel slightly nervous. Had the woman left? Raya can’t imagine she’s fast enough to get that far in only the few minutes that had passed. Pausing for a moment, Raya spins in a slow circle, searching. Plumage and flying arms cross in and out of her field of vision, creating blockades in her view of the party. She bares her teeth, prepared to drop all nineteen years of her etiquette education and start shoving, until - there. Doused in shadow, leaning against a pillar at the very edge of the commotion; a moth among the night. Raya’s heart jacks up a notch. The woman is staring directly at her, arms crossed over her broad chest, and Raya gets the prominent feeling that either she is not nearly as discreet as she thought or perhaps s _he_ is the one being pursued. The thought makes her shiver. 

Straightening her shoulders, Raya does not hesitate before striding towards her subject of interest. The woman stands taller as Raya approaches, and the crowds almost seem to part to allow Raya a path forward. She’s clearly an expected guest, and there is now no doubt in Raya’s mind that this woman doesn’t fit the cookie-cutter mold of every other person at this damned party. It’s exciting- if a bit unsettling- but at last Raya comes to a halt a few feet away from her ghost. The white dress is simple: another clear signal into her previous acknowledgement of this woman as somebody interesting. A loop of fabric clings round her neck in a halter before falling to the floor in a simple design that leaves her collarbones and arms exposed. Raya tries hard not to let her vision flash to the woman’s strong shoulders, and it gets a little easier when her opposer steps to the side and her face becomes washed in golden candlelight. 

Raya sucks in a tiny breath. A lace mask shaped like some sort of cat does little to conceal the top half of her face, and behind it burns fire. Despite knowing absolutely nothing about her, Raya feels picked apart by this woman’s eyes. They are dark, and blaze with something fearsome and hidden. Not to mention that she’s probably the most attractive person Raya has ever seen, and her strong, slanted features scream that she’s not a Heartland native. Lips curl into a feline smile, and Raya tilts her chin to match the small height difference between them. 

“You look a little lost, princess.” 

Raya’s brows quirk. No sort of formality is offered, despite the clear acknowledgement of her as princess of the strongest nation on their planet. This is going to be interesting. 

“And where else should someone such as myself be at this hour?” 

“Hmm. I could think of a couple places.” 

The unchaste flash of eyes down her figure is absolutely deliberate, and for a moment Raya is lost for words. 

This is not what she was expecting. 

Rather than try and stammer out an unbefitting response Raya is silent for a heartbeat more, gathering her thoughts. The woman throws her head back and laughs, revealing her smooth throat, and Raya doesn’t miss the significance of bearing one’s fragile life to a complete stranger. Either this woman is offering Raya something beyond party conversation or she’s just stupid, and it’s very hard to believe the latter. She’s a warrior, made clear in the mildly defensive stance of her tensed limbs and the prowess with which she stands; a predator in slumber. Raya feels foolish for her slow responses thus far but she was just surprised, that’s all. She’d thought the woman might have an interesting story or two, yet here they are _flirting_. Not that Raya’s complaining about it, either. She’s a predator too; quick-witted and rarely caught off guard, and this woman has nothing on her except the element of surprise - but now that that card’s been played, it’s fair game. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me who I am, princess? That’s how you’re supposed to start a conversation, is it not?” 

“Maybe I’m not here for conversation.” 

The playful response signals her willingness to play along and yields a satisfied quirk of her opposer’s brow. Raya preens. 

“I’m interested, I must say.” The woman takes a step forward and it’s definitely not just to hear her better, but Raya holds her ground. She aches to know her name, but asking would require giving in to her previous request, and giving in is _not_ something Raya’s fond of. 

“You know,” the princess begins, tugging a strand of hair from her braid to twirl around her finger, “I did take a good long look at the guest list for this little... soiree, and I can’t say I recall seeing you on it.” 

The woman smirks. 

“Maybe you didn’t look hard enough, princess. Although I must say, I am disappointed I didn’t receive any special invitation.” 

Inside, Raya is still on high guard. She has no clue who this woman is, and despite the banterous nature of their conversation and the fact that she’s never in her life had any desire to look at a guest list, she really _doesn’t_ recall ever seeing her before. Not that she keeps close track of everybody her step mother and kingdom have ties with, but most of these people are at least somewhat familiar. Her mind teeters between wanting to give in and wanting to stay alert in case all of this happens to be some sort of trap. Not everybody is a massive fan of the Heartland’s rule. 

“Maybe you just didn’t look hard enough.” 

Raya wants to wink, but it would barely be visible through her mask anyways. And besides, the pleased smile of the woman gives her quite enough satisfaction. 

“Namaari.” 

Confusion laces Raya’s thoughts for a split second before she realizes that the woman is offering her name. 

“And I’m a last minute guest from Talon - my mother is of high blood and our family has long been in cohorts with yours. It’s just usually my mother who attends these types of functions. I could never stand the dress.” 

With that Namaari reaches up to remove her mask, scowling lightly. It didn’t do much to cover her features in the first place, but again Raya is struck by her fierce beauty. 

Now feeling slightly more at ease from the explanation, Raya too removes her mask. It dangles by her side as she clutches it loosely. 

“Ah. Well, Namaari-” the name rolls smooth off her tongue, and Raya feels lightning spark along her bones. “I’m Raya.” She grins. “In case you didn’t know.” 

“Lovely to make your acquaintance.” Namaari holds out a hand, and Raya reaches out to shake. The contact sends something like excitement rushing over Raya’s skin, and it might just be her imagination but she thinks the handshake lasts a bit longer than a normal handshake should. When she pulls away, Namaari runs her opposite hand over the shaved side of her head, which draws Raya’s attention to the softly glimmering jewelry adorning her ear and two gold cuffs circling her bicep. Muscles bunch and release, and the image of her at this moment has begun to paint some unorthodox images in Raya’s mind. Suddenly, she feels very aware of just how close they are standing. 

“So, Raya.” Tilted head, narrowed eyes. They’re playing a dangerous game, and they both love it. “Where else _could_ someone such as yourself be at this hour?” 

Raya lifts her shoulders in a little shrug. “Oh, you know. Just doing your average late night royal duties. Sewing, speech writing, swordplay with straw dummies. We also have some lovely heated pools, though it’s a little too dangerous out to be bathing alone at night, wouldn’t you say?” 

“I’d like to think I can fend for myself.” 

Raya offers a pretend pout. 

“Still, I don’t like being _alone_.” This conversation is going quick, but Raya senses Namaari isn’t one to bide her time so she won’t either. She offers up a little jab, testing the waters: “Perhaps next time I go you’d like to join me?” 

The blatant request appears to leave Namaari somewhat taken aback, and silently Raya draws a mark on her own mental scoreboard. 

“Careful what you wish for, _dep la_. I might not be so easy as some straw dummies.” 

_Dep la_. The sudden nickname makes Raya’s head pound in the most electric way possible. 

“We’re talking about bathing, not sparring. Though now that you mention it, I am in need of a new partner - most everybody around here is a little dry in the conversation area.” The casual mention of them bathing together does little to quell Raya’s mind. 

“Conversation?” 

“You mean to tell me you don’t enjoy a little friendly banter while you’re beating someone’s brains out?” Raya questions with feigned surprise. “Tsk tsk.” 

A sniff, and then: “I suppose I’d consider it. But only for you.” Namaari winks, and Raya is both on fire and disappointed that she didn’t wink first. No way is Namaari going to out flirt her, though she has to admit: she’s good. Good enough that Raya is almost desperately beginning to hope that her night might end with something other than stealing alcohol and passing out on the observatory roof. Honestly, that’s getting kind of old anyways - and she’s not letting Namaari slip through her fingers if she can help it. There’s a delicious chemistry brewing in the small space between them, so thick Raya can almost taste it, and with every passing second she grows more enamoured with those dark eyes; wonders what they’d look like staring down at her from above. Honestly, the fact that she hasn’t got Namaari pushed up against a shadowed wall this very second is mildly annoying but good things come with time, she supposes. 

In the past, she’d been with a few men at the insistence of both her step mother and governesses, but even before the confirmation which came with those extremely uncomfortable circumstances she knew she was interested in women. Of course she’s now had her fair share of experience - some good, some bad, some in between, but the way Namaari’s gaze keeps flickering over her like she won’t notice sends Raya higher than she’s ever felt, and they’ve done nothing but talk. 

“Not gonna lie, princess,” says Namaari, before Raya can bounce off her last words. “I’m thinking I might come to more parties now.” Again, her provocative expression gives away the true meaning of her words. 

“And I’m thinking I might have to write my first special invitation.” 

A smirk, and Raya thinks she might come closer still - but then Namaari is leaning backwards again. 

“Tell me, Raya. What kind of people do you get around here?” 

Raya groans lightly. 

“Horribly uninteresting ones.” 

“Honestly princess, I’m hurt.” Namaari places a hand on her heart, and Raya doesn’t miss the way it slides up her chest before stilling. 

“You’re doing pretty good so far, actually. But I’m definitely thinking of some ways to up your score.” 

“Care to share?” 

“Care to experiment?” 

Namaari nods in contemplation but goes no further. Raya is becoming impatient. 

“Blades or hand to hand combat?” Questions the taller, puzzling Raya for the abrupt change in conversation. She replies anyway, because she wants to know more about Namaari outside of their flirtation. 

“Blades. You?” 

“Touche. Blades always.” 

_Interesting_ , thinks Raya, but she’s done with casual talk. It’s rare that she so quickly becomes interested in someone, much less interested in the way she is now, but there are only a few more lines for them to pass on their way to a crescendo. Raya can’t imagine that the woman opposite her has any other intention, and they definitely aren’t going to stand around chatting for another hour. The mystery surrounding Namaari's person doesn't bother her much - if anything, it's a bit exciting - and it's not like she couldn't take her in a fight if for some reason that happened to occur. If Raya’s lucky they might meet again after this night, but the future's a story for another time. Right now, based entirely on the way Namaari had begun this conversation in the first place, Raya knows what she wants. 

“My turn.” Raya tilts her head. “Why are you here?” 

The words come out unprompted and not completely thought through, and Raya almost blanches at how grating they sound. Namaari is similarly questioning. 

“Thought we already talked about that, princess.” 

Raya can’t back down now. She steps forward, so the two women are less than an arm’s length apart. The rational part of her mind prays they’re shadowed enough from prying eyes in case this turns out how Raya hopes it turns out, but she doesn’t care enough to give it a second thought. 

“No,” she whispers, voice low. “You told me why you’re at this stupid party. Why are you _here_.” 

Namaari’s lashes drop along with her tone. 

“Is there something different you’d like to hear?” 

“I don’t know. Is there something else you’d like to say?” 

“Depends, _Dep La_.” 

Raya nearly scowls. Why is Namaari still playing this stupid game? Raya can feel the heat radiating from her body, can see her pulse racing beneath her tan throat. Namaari knows what Raya wants - she wants it too - but she also wants Raya to say it. 

“I think you know what I want to hear.” 

Namaari’s tone is falsely sweet when she replies, nice and slow. 

“And what’s that?” Her eyes bore into Raya’s core, and her next words are smoother than a spring river. “That I want to get you alone?” 

_There it is._

Raya can’t help it. Her responding grin is beyond triumphant, because Namaari is fucking _hot_ and her whole body feels on fire from the insinuation of everything that’s just happened. Her skin aches to get out of this stupid dress and preferably into more comfortable attire, like Namaari’s hands gripping her waist. 

She takes another step forward, intending to close the space between them and press lips to ear to whisper that they should _really_ go somewhere else like, right now, when Namaari retreats, falling back in two big strides that leave Raya cold and blushing, her feathered mask on the floor where she’d dropped it moments before. 

“Sorry, princess.” Namaari’s eyes flash, victorious. “But I think somebody else is looking for you.” 

Confused, a little angry, and trying her best to dampen the red spreading across her cheeks, Raya spins around to look where Namaari’s gaze had flown. A couple yards away, Sultan Ramil and a woman Raya can only assume is his wife are quickly approaching, their smiling faces painted with the clear mission of speaking with Raya. She gives them a formal bow and quickly turns to look at Namaari before they reach her - but the woman is gone. Startled, Raya takes a desperate look around but it’s to no avail. Namaari is nowhere to be seen, and now Raya is left with nothing but barely tempered desire and an unwanted conversation about politics with people she must pretend to be nice to. 

In between bowing and the exchanging of formalities, Raya curses Namaari’s name under her breath. She should really be more careful around pretty women who spell _trouble_ with their every word, but truly, what can she say. You attract what you are.   
  
  


-

  
  
  


It’s midnight before Raya finally escapes the clutches of endless conversation. Her shoes are off her feet the second she’s outdoors, and most of the other articles of clothing not directly attached to her body are either in her hands or lost by the time she arrives at her bedroom door. Outside, she’s bending over to undo the lock when she notices a square of paper on the floor, about half the size of her palm. Curious, she drops the shoes to pick it up. The paper’s cheap and flimsy and she’s scared she’s going to rip it before it can lay flat, but after dropping a few more things onto the ground she’s able to open it up all the way. On the paper in sloping handwriting written with black ink is a message: 

_You’re not winning that easy, dep la._

_P.S. I’m a big fan of Buko Pie. Hope I’ll see you around._

_Signed,_ XXX 

Raya’s lips curl into a smile. 

_Well played, Namaari._

Her night was beginning to look up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCREEAAMMM GROWL BARK???!?!!?  
> God ok this conversation kinda feels SO rushed when I went back to read it through, but idec. Friends to enemies to lovers? How about Lets-almost-fuck-in-a-big-ballroom to enemies to lets-actually-fuck-in-a-big-ballroom. No spoilers tho :) 
> 
> ANYHOO, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! I really hope you enjoyed, and the next chapter will be out Monday next week!! If you did enjoy, pls leave a comment - currently in desperate need of fellow Namaari simps. Princess undercut pls undercut me :((


	2. Twin Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looks better like this, Namaari thinks; all fire and unbridled emotion. Outside the palace walls, she’s clearly able to let go of any facades she’s otherwise forced to put on. Her thick hair is down around her face instead of piled atop her head, and she wears simple clothing that makes it really hard for Namaari to look at her and see the step daughter of the woman ruining so many people’s lives. Right now, in this moment, as Raya draws her lip between her teeth and stares Namaari down with every ounce of tension from the night before still clinging to her like the scent of roses long after summer, Namaari thinks she just looks like a girl she desperately wants to kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCREAAAMMMMM I WROTE THIS ALL IN ONE DAY AND I REGRET ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. 
> 
> P.S. Feel free to check out my [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4mszsudCe9SwFI7vC1XUXO?si=YDM2FrgVTxCYp4ctilQTdw) for this fic!

Namaari’s head pounds. On either side of her march two other women - high level generals with stiff posture and even stiffer conversation to match - who discuss recent criminal activity in and around the heart of their city base. Namaari should be paying attention, offering her advice and solutions like she’s learned to do over the past eighteen years, but she hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep in over 24 hours and every other word feels like another rock tossed at the cracking window into her sanity. 

“Any chance you could discuss this with Chief Virana, Ma’am?” questions one of the generals. Namaari starts at the mention of her name. Her gaze steels and she nods stoically, desperately trying to pull herself back to the present. There’s no time for spacing out - not with everything that’s been going on recently. Increased taxes from the capitol have led to skyrocketing crime - everything from simple thievery to violent gang activity, and as the daughter of the woman in charge of this damned city, Namaari has been buried neck-deep in it all since the day she came out of the womb. 

“I’ll be sure she knows, General.” Namaari replies. She’s trying to pull any semblance of an idea about what they were talking about out of her subconscious, but to no avail. Her head remains blank. And throbbing. Virana will learn one way or another, but it won’t be from her. 

A few minutes later, the three of them come to a stop in front of a pair of simple oak doors, faded and worn around the corners. Namaari returns a respectful bow to each of the generals before they tromp off in perfect unison, then pushes the door open. 

“Namaari,” he mother greets her, not looking up from a stack of papers. 

With as little noise as possible, Namaari closes the door behind her. Her mother sits behind a wooden desk scattered with paper, writing utensils and the occasional short dagger and Namaari tiredly approaches, careful not to let her feet drag. 

“Mother.” She bows, and Virana finally looks up. Her brown eyes crinkle in concern. 

“You look exhausted, daughter. Sit.” With one hand she motions to a wicker chair to the left of the desk, and Namaari gratefully obliges. The chair isn’t exactly comfortable, but the relieval of stress from her legs and back almost makes her sigh in relief. 

“Thank you. You said you needed to speak with me?” 

Virana releases a lengthy sigh, then stands. 

“I do not wish to place so much pressure on you, Namaari,” she laments, genuine regret seeping through the words, “but I’m afraid you are one of the few I can trust in this fading world. You become more and more capable each day, and for that I hope you know I will always be proud.” 

Namaari’s back straightens at the praise. Her mother is rarely sentimental like this, and that is reinforced when the raw moment between mother and daughter quickly fades back to that of Chief and Commander. 

“However, this is unfortunately the way it must be to reflect the times.” 

Namaari nods, eyes clear, and suddenly feels a little silly for sitting down while her mother stands tall before her and speaks of such serious matters. 

“Come.” Virana motions her to a circular table in the far corner of the room, upon which lies a detailed map of Fang to Tail and everything in between. They stand shoulder to shoulder at the map’s base, and Virana places a fingertip on the Heartland. 

“I’ve been thinking much about the state of our world for the past decade, and although the nation of Fang has managed to stay mostly afloat as the rest fall apart, it pains me to say that even we cannot keep this up much longer. 

Namaari swallows, gaze fixed on her mother’s tight expression. 

“Every day the Heartland’s army eliminates more of our people, and with the accuracy with which they strike I’m afraid we may have a traitor amongst our ranks.” 

A scowl works itself up on Namaari’s lips. _Traitor_. The word feels foul in her mouth. 

“What should we do?” Namaari questions. “I know many of the higher officers under your command, but not well enough to judge their true character. Perhaps we could set up a trap?” 

Virana shakes her head slightly. 

“I have considered the same many times over, but have come to the conclusion that even if we do catch the villain or villains, it still won’t be enough.” 

Her eyes rise from the map to meet Namaari’s, and in them burns rage. 

“Daughter, it is time to _fight back_ . Our petty excursions to disrupt trading and army bases do little but irritate those in power.” Her lips curl. “That despicable Heartland _queen_ -” the word is spit from her mouth “-does nothing but sit high and proud in her palace and bathe in wealth stolen from those beneath her while the good and true people of all of Kumandra fall deeper into starvation and despair. It is sickening.” 

Namaari nods fervently, all exhaustion wiped from her bones as they fill instead with vengeful passion. She’s seen families torn apart, children begging for table scraps and homes burned to the ground. She and her mother’s small army of Fang rebels do what they can to help, but the brevity of despair is simply too much. Far too many times has Namaari had to leave some poor soul behind, guilt covering her like a weighted blanket even as she turns away from dirt-streaked faces and grasping hands. 

“... What are you thinking of doing?” Namaari whispers, recognizing her mother’s scheming face. It is something she’s seen only a few times, but it gives her a small amount of hope. 

Virana’s silent for a moment more, but her mouth has curved into an almost wicked smile when her gaze again meets her daughter’s. 

“We are going to steal something precious from them - something the queen will have no choice but to bargain for.” 

Namaari waits. 

“We are going to steal the princess of the Heartlands.” 

A sort of blank disbelief paints Namaari’s brain. Her mother could not have just said what she said. And yet- 

Virana straightens up, turning away from the map. 

“We are going to use the princess of the Heartlands to crack apart that barbaric monarchy at the seams, and you are going to be the one to bring her to us. 

Namaari can’t help it. The words leave her mouth before she even knows what she’s saying. 

“Mother - that’s _impossible_.” 

Virana raises a brow. 

“The Heartlands are the most protected strip of land in the entire nation, and you expect me to just waltz in, throw a princess over my shoulder and waltz back out?” She throws her hands up. “It’s insanity!” Namaari respects her mother beyond all belief, but this - it’s too far fetched to even be considered. 

Without saying another word, Virana beckons her daughter to another table, this one covered in various different scraps of paper. When Namaari looks closer, she sees some of them are sketches of the Heartland princess, and the rest are handwritten letters and notes, all of different shapes and sizes. Virana motions to them with one hand. 

“For months, I have been investigating the private life of Princess Raya and numerous methods with which we might bring her to us.” 

Namaari’s eyes glaze over as she peers down at the world of information in front of her. She only catches scraps of sentences from each one, but they appear to be several kinds of documents: letters, official records, tiny notes and even a written schedule. 

“From what we’ve gathered, the Heartlands Princess is not a dainty girl with a pretty face. She’s a warrior with a knack for getting in trouble, and this can be used to our advantage,” Virana explains, shuffling a few of the papers around. “She is likely to be found or drawn outside the palace walls, where it will be easier to take her down. We also found some letters that appear to reveal her… affection towards those of the female sex.” Virana looks pointedly at Namaari when she says this, and Namaari feels her face burn. Her mother had no qualms about her romantic preferences or lack thereof, but the absence of shame in her clear insinuations still make Namaari a little bashful. 

“I wouldn’t put you in such a dangerous position if I didn’t believe this could actually be achieved, morning mist.” 

Namaari bites her lip at her mother’s use of her old nickname. Virana’s eyes are desperate but strong, and the longer Namaari stands there the more she can feel herself giving in. If this plan somehow works, it could be the first step towards finally freeing her people of ten years of despair. The big question mark is that one word - _somehow_. This would be possibly the most dangerous excursion of her life, and the current lack of a full plan makes Namaari uneasy, but- she glances at one of the larger drawings on the table, Princess Raya’s flat coal eyes staring up at nothing, then back at her mother. She bites her lip. 

“Tell me more.” 

\- 

  
  
  
  


Namaari’s on high alert while she prowls around just outside the Heartland’s central hub. It’s a bit quieter here, where smaller vendors offer up their goods with slightly less relish and dull-clad citizens rush along streets to unknown destinations. At the moment, tall shadows stretch across cobblestone as they flee the quickly approaching night. There’s probably less than an hour until full sunset, and Namaari told herself she would only wait a short while after that before retiring until the next day. 

The sun had been bright all day, and the tall woman can feel the tingling beginnings of a sunburn on her shoulders and neck despite trying to stay under shade as much as possible. She’s been here for the entire day and still the princess of Heart hasn’t found it fit to show her pretty face. Maybe she’s not as smart as Namaari thought - but the moment that thought pops into her head it’s already being washed down. 

_No_ , the woman thinks, recalling their interaction the night before. Raya is smart. Smart enough to figure out what her cryptic note means, and smart enough that Namaari felt the slightest onset of fear while they spoke at the party. If Raya somehow figured out who she really was and alerted the queen… Namaari shakes her head to clear those thoughts out. It will do her no good to mull over maybes, especially when she’s so close to her goal. She recalls Raya’s blown pupils pouring into hers in the seconds before she broke their spell, and feels slightly better. She was probably too occupied with other thoughts to analyze the probability of Namaari’s white lie about her sudden appearance, but still - always better to be on guard. Her hands twitch near the hilts of her knives, tucked into holders on her hips. 

It’s difficult to hate the Princess of the Heartlands as much as Namaari knows she should. Prior to their meeting she’d held nothing but disdain for the person she thought would be a picture perfect representation of everything she wanted to eliminate in the world, but now she’s not so sure. Raya had seemed… different. She’s quick, strong; clear in her intentions and not at all snobby or cruel. With a frown, Namaari tries to cover those thoughts with images from a dying Fang. The entire royal family and their high class connections are to blame for the downfall of her people. Still… Raya is both more personable and more attractive than Namaari expected, and though she hates herself in admitting it, a tiny, _tiny_ part of her intentions with the Princess come from more than just good acting. 

The shadows continue to grow longer, and Namaari begins shooting sour scowls at anybody who glances her way. The oncoming dark is making her nervous. If anybody from the palace of Heart knew who she was, she wouldn’t last another ten minutes beneath the open sky before being thrown into a cell to rot for eternity. This part of town is the least heavily patrolled by force, which is why she chose it as a meeting spot. The further from prying eyes, the further from danger: that’s what she and her mother always rationed. 

Deciding the breeze is growing cool enough to wanton an extra layer of clothing, Namaari stoops to pick up a brown cloak from where it had been piled on the ground. It was supposed to be part of a disguise, but the late afternoon heat had simply been too much and she’d ditched it in favor of standing slightly more out of the way. When she rises back to her feet, fingers fumbling with the button to close the cape around her shoulders, Raya is standing in front of her. 

Namaari blinks, unbelieving. Without even a second to allow Namaari the time to process, the Princess starts towards her. 

_Perfect_ , Namaari thinks. Where she stands now is hidden on all sides except for the entrance directly opposite her. 

“I’ll have you know,” Raya begins, stomping forward with calculated intention, “that I searched every restaurant and street stand that sells Buko Pie in this entire damn city - just to find you here, in this absolute shithole of an alleyway, wearing possibly the most hideous clothing I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

Namaari grins wide, baring her white canines. 

“Ah, so is _that_ what took you so long, _Dep La_? You missed me?” 

Raya clearly likes the little nickname Namaari had come up with, and Namaari enjoys that thought probably more than she should. She begins taking steps back to match Raya’s even pace, in order to both offer her some of the control she clearly wants and coax her further from the exit. 

“And you haven’t even tried their pie - it really is the best.” 

Her back hits a stone wall, and without anywhere else to go the distance between them begins to dwindle. Wanting to show off just a bit, Namaari stretches her arms high, fingers interlocked so she knows her shoulder muscles will bunch, then brings them behind her slightly cocked head. 

_Gods_ , she’s enjoying this a little too much - but the feral look the princess is giving her right now barely offers any other options. The heart wants what it wants, and right now Namaari wants her hands on someone she’s trying very hard to forget that she will soon be kidnapping instead of falling into bed with. Quickly, she chases that sour thought away. 

Raya still doesn’t speak, so Namaari does. 

“You look a little stressed, princess. Any way I could help you out with that?” 

“Oh-” Raya is still coming closer, and soon Namaari will be able to count the wild hairs flying around her face. “-I could think of a lot of ways, actually.” 

She looks better like this, Namaari thinks; all fire and unbridled emotion. Outside the palace walls, she’s clearly able to let go of any facades she’s otherwise forced to put on. Her thick hair is down around her face instead of piled atop her head, and she wears simple clothing that makes it _really_ hard for Namaari to look at her and see the step daughter of the woman ruining so many people’s lives. Right now, in this moment, as Raya draws her lip between her teeth and stares Namaari down with every ounce of tension from the night before still clinging to her like the scent of roses long after summer, Namaari thinks she just looks like a girl she desperately wants to kiss. 

Still grinning, Namaari borrows the same phrase she’d used last night. 

“Care to share?” 

Raya’s mouth is on hers in the span of a single blink. Namaari tugs her hands apart and slides them up Raya’s back, pulling her body in close till they’re pressed up against each other, Namaari sandwiched between the heated press of Raya’s chest and thighs and the wall at her back. 

“You’re fucking-” a hand slams on the wall next to Namaari’s head, and Raya’s other tugs at the nape of the stupid cape until it falls to the ground before spreading her fingers out across the small of Namaari’s back. “ _Infuriating_.” 

“Wow, Princess.” A pause, filled with heavy breathing. “That’s a little harsh, we’ve only known each other for two da-” Namaari stops dead when Raya’s tongue licks into her mouth, stealing the words from her breath and the breath from her lungs like she was born to do it. It takes every ounce of willpower she’s ever gathered for Namaari to swallow the little whines in the back of her throat. Normally, there wouldn’t be a chance in hell she’d permit somebody else this much power without her _allowing_ it, but nobody else has ever kissed her like this before. Raya is _hungry_ , tongue sliding against Namaari’s with fiery intent like she’s breathing _her_ in instead of oxygen. Namaari wants to whisper sweet nothings into Raya’s sweat-slicked skin and then bite them off, but her mouth is a little preoccupied and she’s not keen on ending that anytime soon. 

“Don’t-” a gasp for air “-call me that.” 

It takes a moment for Namaari’s lust-clouded brain to realize what Raya is talking about. When she does, a sudden burst of strength pulses through her body. Not missing a beat, she rolls her hips down against the other woman, and in the space of the latter’s surprise tugs Raya to her and flips them around, slamming her against the same spot on the wall where she’d just been. Raya gasps, but Namaari quickly swallows the noise with a chaste but lingering kiss. 

“I’ll call you whatever I want.” She pulls away, and Raya chases her lips for a moment before her eyes flutter open. Namaari makes sure she’s standing her full height while maintaining eye contact long enough to make Raya lick her lips nervously, then drops her head to whisper in the sensitive space just below Raya’s ear, low and gravelly: “ _Princess_.” 

Raya openly moans at that, fingernails digging into Namaari’s bare shoulders hard enough to sting, and it’s _hot_ . There’s a heat building in Namaari’s lower stomach, and she’d be a damn fool if she tried to tell herself that all this is just a means to an end. Trying desperately not to think about what must eventually be done, Namaari drops a hand to tug Raya’s left thigh up and around her own waist, squeezing the soft flesh there and wishing there weren’t any stupid pants blocking her from sliding her hand over smooth skin. She locks her mouth just below Raya’s jaw, alternating between sucking and biting after the latter shows no sort of objection against being marked. She knows she shouldn’t - in fact, it’s probably the worst decision she’ll ever make, but _fuck_ if she’s going to let this girl get away without saying ‘ _you’re mine_ ’ in the form of blooming bruises on her pretty skin at least once before Raya probably hates her forever. 

_Fuck_. 

Before Raya hates her forever. Though it shouldn’t, the thought makes Namaari’s jaw clench. 

It’s all getting to be too much. Raya’s grip scrabbles at Namaari’s waistband, untucking her shirt to slide her hands underneath and trace Namaari’s toned stomach, but before going much further she whispers against the side of Namaari’s head. 

“Is this okay?” 

Namaari’s heart cracks. How is she going to betray this girl at her most vulnerable, when doing so would essentially tell Raya that all of this has just been Namaari leading her on? Raya evidently takes her hesitation as a no, but when she goes to remove her hands Namaari quickly slides her own up her shirt to place Raya’s slightly smaller palms over her breasts, this time unable to restrain her whine when Raya’s thumb flicks over her nipple. 

“Yes,” she whispers, breathless, forehead pressing briefly against Raya’s as she closes her eyes in bliss. 

_But I’m not leading her on,_ she tells herself. She really does like Raya, does want this. It’s a weak attempt at blacking out the sickening fear that’s beginning to slide through Namaari’s veins. 

Raya’s gentle, a stark contradiction to the mood she’d been exhibiting earlier, and Namaari keeps her eyes shut even when she wants to watch Raya’s expressions as she melts beneath her, because looking at her seems to pile on the guilt until Namaari feels crippled by its weight. 

After a short while of exchanging panted breaths and desperate noises, Raya removes her hands to cup the back of Namaari’s neck, and abruptly Namaari decides she’s had enough. If this was a normal makeout session with a normal, not-princess-of-Heartlands Raya kissing Namaari just right and touching her just enough to make her want to beg for more, Namaari would already have that Raya halfway to heaven and back - but this is not that world, and as much as Namaari wishes it were, it never will be. She keeps her hands (mostly) to herself, and instead of dropping to her knees and throwing Raya’s bare leg over her shoulder, she backs up enough to coax the other woman around so her stomach is against the wall, back pressed to Namaari’s front in a way that feels a lot better than she expected it to. Raya doesn’t question it when Namaari kisses the back of her neck, doesn’t question it when Namaari runs her hands up her sides and pulls her hair out of the way. 

It’s only when Namaari grits her teeth together and whispers a cracked “I’m sorry, _Dep La_ ” that the muscles in Raya’s back tense up, instincts alerted to the change in mood, but by then it’s too late. Namaari has her arm locked around Raya’s throat, and she locks up the rear chokehold before even a whisper can pass her lips. Namaari’s eyes squeeze shut, forehead centimeters from Raya’s soft hair as the girl thrashes for a few seconds, but Namaari’s strength proves to be superior and soon, Raya grows limp. Namaari counts the seconds to make sure she isn’t faking it, then lets go and allows the girl to sag into her arms. Careful not to let any part of her hit the ground, Namaari cradles Raya up in her arms. She’s breathing softly, and if Namaari tries hard enough it’s almost easy to believe she’s just fallen asleep in her arms. 

Night has fallen now, and after calling her mount and loading Raya safely into a cushioned seat and with a good healthy dose of sleeping powder to keep her down once the choke wears off, Namaari releases a shaky breath. Her shirt is still untucked, and quickly she tucks it back in. 

The night seems to taunt her, and she whispers a quiet _“Fuck”_ to the stars. 

Then she mounts the big cat and starts on the journey back to Fang, the lingering touches of Heartland’s Princess like the stain of fresh berries on her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??!?!?!?!?!!???! NAMAARI UR IN LOVE DON'T TRY AND DENY IT. 
> 
> But uhh WHEW things r getting SPICYY in more ways than one :0  
> Obvi they have to have an enemies to lovers arc so uhhhhh here's Namaari knocking Raya out after a hot and spicy makeout sesh. I mean really, what more could a gal want?  
> :) 
> 
> I also wasn't planning on posting this till next week but ummm here we are anyways


	3. Devil I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” questions Namaari after Raya scoffs and says no more. 
> 
> “Nothing. Just looking forward to our romantic stroll through a fortress, that’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there and welcome to another episode of I Neglect My Daily Responsibilities To Write About The Gays :))  
> Looong chappy tho so it's ok

When Raya wakes, her throat burns like she’s swallowed hot coal. Brain still blanketed by the confines of sleep, she forces a tiny cough to see if it will help. It doesn’t. Water would be nice, but for some reason her body hurts and she can’t really move her arms quite yet - they must still be asleep. 

_Gods, I’m fucking tired._

Briefly she considers falling back into the comforting dark behind her eyelids, but the thought doesn’t last long beside her screaming throat and achy body. Why is she so sore, anyways? And why are her arms still not moving? Waking up has never been so exhausting. 

Raya opens her eyes. She blinks rapidly, some sort of dust or grit making it hard to keep them open, and then stiffens like a metal rod. The ceiling above her is not her ceiling. The smells around her are not those of home. With the force of a raging bull, everything from the past few days rushes in at once. 

“Holy fuck,” she whispers under her breath. The words come out so cracked they barely resemble words at all. Memories surface: the party, sneaking out the next morning, spending hours searching around town, and then- Raya violently strains her wrists against the scratchy material tying them behind her back. The pain does nothing to overshadow memories of Namaari - fucking Namaari - and hers’ little escapade. Thoughts of Namaari’s body, Namaari’s lips, Namaari’s arms crushing her throat rush in so fast Raya feels like she’s gotten whiplash, and with it all comes the unmistakable ache of a migraine just beginning to push at her temples. In combination with her throat and mysteriously sore muscles, she isn’t entirely convinced she didn’t get drunk somewhere in there too. Being just hungover sounds like heaven right now. 

Without even realizing it, Raya’s breathing has gotten heavy and strained. She closes her eyes to try and calm herself down, but the dark only makes it easier to picture the way Namaari had kissed her neck one second then squeezed the life out of it the next. Her blood boils. No doubt wherever she’s tied up right now is that binturi’s fault too. As for how she even got here; tiny flashes of memory involving bouncing terrain and the rush of wind pop into her mind once in a while, but beyond that there isn’t much to work with. 

It takes a minute, but eventually Raya is able to calm her breathing to a more regular pace. _Without control of self you control nothing at all,_ whispers her father’s voice in her head: one of his lessons to a younger Raya before he’d died. And although Raya can’t claim she’s practiced for this exact situation before, the words stand true and are a better place to start than passing out again from lack of oxygen. Feeling slightly more settled, Raya notes everything within her range of vision. She’s lying on her back on a somewhat soft surface and can’t lift herself up because of a thick strap crossing her chest, so anything above her head will have to remain a mystery. From what she can see, she’s in a small stone-walled room with candle holders stuck haphazardly along the walls and a line of dusty windows along the top of the back wall. That being said, she can only assume the exit is on the wall she can’t see. 

Beneath her, her wrists continue to ache from the weight of her body on top of them, and her shoulders scream for help almost as loud as her throat. Her ankles have been tied as well, though there’s no strap over her lower legs. Whoever locked her up like this had clearly never tied up a human being before. She tugs against the restraints again, grunting, but they don’t loosen. Maybe, if she can use her feet to push up, she can slide out of the chest restraint enough to give her hands a little extra room. Then it will be easier to-- the metal scream of a door scraping along rock stops Raya dead in her thoughts. 

_Shit shit shit_. 

She _should_ pretend to still be asleep, see if the person says anything she can use to her advantage, but it’s already too late. Footsteps echo, and Raya realizes it must be a group. They soon come into view - four people; two women and two men, each highly armed and carrying expressions of disgust as they stare Raya down. She glares, ribs heaving as she tries against hope to help herself feel less powerless. 

“Where the hell am I?” 

One of the female guards approaches, and behind her she drags a solid wooden chair with a high back. 

“Doesn’t matter, girl,” she says. “You’re screwed regardless.” The chair is set up in the middle of the room facing the same direction as the bed or cot or whatever the hell she’s laying on, and then all four guards come over to hold her down while the chest strap is undone and she’s allowed to sit up. The men holding her arms squeeze a little harder than necessary, and Raya grits her teeth. She’d never forgive herself if she started crying right now. 

She’s tugged to her feet, then dragged to the chair since she can’t very well walk with her legs tied together. While the men again hold down on her arms, her hands are freed for a moment of sweet bliss before they’re immediately constrained again, this time behind the chair’s back. Her feet are separated and tied to the two front legs of the chair. With each passing second, Raya’s struggles slow as the initial determination she’d felt after waking up is replaced by despair. She has no clue why these people keep giving her shadowed glares, and she gets the feeling that speaking at all will only get her in an even worse situation than the one she’s in now. 

When they finally finish the job, the second woman pats her roughly on the shoulder while the rest trail from the room. 

“Good luck, girl. Hope you get what you deserve.” 

Their leavance isn’t accompanied by the sound of the door so Raya tenses up, thinking they might not really be gone. The new, lighter gait which soon echoes around the small room erases that concern. 

“Good to see you’re awake.” 

_That voice_ \- Raya isn’t the least surprised. Her lip curls. Adrenaline is swiftly returning to her body as memories and emotions pile up. 

“Namaari.” She spits the name from her mouth like it’s tainted with a foul taste. As soon as she speaks, the woman in question steps into view. Unfortunately for Raya, she’s still as annoyingly attractive as she recalls - but now that image is splattered with burning rage, and even the worried frown on Namaari’s face as Raya nearly tugs her shoulder out of its socket can’t change that. 

“Raya, stop - you’re going to hurt yourself.” She pauses to peer closer at where the rope threatens to cut into Raya’s skin, and her eyes grow dark. When she speaks again it’s almost to herself. 

“Those imbecile sentries, I told them you were to be treated respectfully-” 

“Why do you care?” Raya sneers, and the suddenness of the question startles Namaari. Raya’s struggles have made her breathing irregular again, and gulping down so much air only succeeds in fanning the fire in her throat. “You have-” she coughs “-you have no right to say anything.” Every angry emotion she’s ever felt is nothing compared to this; if she wasn’t strapped to a chair right now, Raya would already have her fists flying. Over the past 24 hours she’s been betrayed, taken from her home, tied up like a dog, and made to feel powerless and weak by people who hate her for no apparent reason. How can Namaari stand there, totally still, and dare to look so high and mighty? The taller woman is silent, expression unreadable, while Raya continues her rant. 

“In case you forgot, you kind of stabbed me in the back and then tied me up like a wild animal in the middle of who-knows-where.” A cruel smile. “Or are you gonna tell me all that was just a super fucked up dream?” 

Namaari opens her mouth and closes it again. She stumbles around a response, and Raya cackles. Everything _hurts_ , and her heart aches for reasons she isn’t yet ready to explore, and the pain fuels her anger beyond reason. 

“Can’t think of anything to say? Yeah, how about ‘I’m a spineless, lying bitch who takes advantage of people for fun’ ?”

“Watch your mouth,” hisses Namaari, her anger visibly flaring as she shoots Raya a sharpened look that swirls with its own fair amount of heat. The demand carries the strength of somebody with years of experience in handling power. “I have my reasons, and if you’d give me a chance to explain-” 

An incredulous noise bursts from Raya’s mouth, and she hates beyond measure that she feels so small and helpless just sitting here, trapped. Her ferocity manifests itself in the form of words since action isn’t an option. 

“If you seriously believe I’m gonna listen to anything you have to say then you’re not half as smart as you think you are.” 

Namaari physically bristles, and Raya can feel the tension in the room rising like a full moon’s tide. Raya’s narrow-eyed glare meets Namaari’s steel glower with enough intensity to send static electricity flying about in all directions. 

“I didn’t want to do any of this to you, Raya, but I had to.” She looks a little desperate when she says that, but with all the emotion clouding the air Raya can’t tell if it’s actually desperation or just an excuse. If it is an excuse, it’s a shitty one. “And maybe you should have been a little more cautious about meeting strange women in back alleys.” 

“ _Fuck_ you, Namaari.” 

“Yeah, well, yesterday it was ‘fuck _me,_ Namaari’, so better make up your damn mind.” 

Raya’s mouth hangs open. She can see that Namaari regrets her words not even a second after saying them by the way her jaw suddenly clenches and some of the anger drains from her face, but Raya couldn’t give less of a shit about Namaari’s feelings right now. 

“How _dare_ you,” Raya hisses, and the venom in her tone is enough to make Namaari flinch. “Say shit like that when you don’t have me tied up like a coward and you’ll regret the day you were born.” 

“Raya, please-” 

Namaari’s hands are clenched into tight fists at her sides. She looks exhausted, Raya is just now realizing - the dark circles under her previously bright eyes are blatant, and she stands curled in on herself as if afraid. Raya shouldn’t notice these things, but she does. She also shouldn’t notice how Namaari’s eyes keep flickering to her neck where she knows a mottled bruise currently marks her skin like a beacon, but she does, and she hates both herself and Namaari for it. 

“Screw off, _binturi_. Go stab some other naive girl in the back - I think I’ve had my fair share, thanks.” 

Namaari’s expression splits in several directions, and for a moment Raya thinks she may say something else - but then she straightens, abruptly cuts off the eye contact locking her and Raya together, and with her hands still pressed into fists walks back the way she came. Her footstep pause, briefly replaced with the heavy creaking of the door until a click signals it’s been locked. Raya keeps quiet, her own strained breathing ringing in her ears, but hears nothing more. 

Namaari’s gone. 

  
  
  


\- 

  
  
  


A whole night passes before Raya sees her again. After she stormed out the first time, Raya was only alone for a few minutes before another sentry brought her a cup of water. She downed it in seconds, momentarily uncaring of the fact that it had to be fed to her by somebody else. Her constraints were also loosened, and she never saw those previous guards again. At night she was allowed to lie down but the discomfort of the rope, her spinning head, and the several guards standing outside the barred steel door of the cell - for that’s what the room was - made it impossible to sleep. There wasn’t much to see outside the door. Beyond a blank white wall, the occasional changing of the guards was the most interesting thing to occur. 

Come morning, Raya’s eyes and wrists burn a matching red. She spent half the night concocting escape plans that all somehow ended up with her dead and staked like a trophy kill or otherwise meeting an untimely and painful death, so the second half she spent thinking of things she might say next to Namaari:

_Come back to taunt me more, binturi?_

No, no. She’d sound like a child. 

_I hope you fall into a river and drown_. 

Definitely not. That thought came mostly from a brief round of spite when Raya was unable to scratch at a mosquito that landed on her arm. Plus, despite everything, Raya did feel a little bad for how she’d spoken the day before. Not much, but enough that she tried not to think about the other woman’s downcast eyes after Raya had told her to screw off. 

… _please give me a good enough excuse to forgive you._

That one’s shoved far to the back. Raya’s suffered through enough to know that forgiveness leads to nothing but shattered trust and nights spent wondering whether life’s even worth it all. When those lovely feelings decided to join the party, Raya huffed a frustrated breath and curled up as much as she could, opting to count the repetitive drip of rain from a leak in the ceiling rather than think anymore. 

A lifetime later morning light peeks painfully slow through the cell’s small windows, gray and dreary because of the rain that’s still drizzling down. Gusts of cool wind offer a welcome change of environment, but even those are soon whisked away when the rain is replaced by dry sunlight. 

For hours, Raya waits. She’s brought food and more water, and although her throat still tingles uncomfortably the migraine has long since faded away, leaving her free of the sensation that could only be compared to being knocked repeatedly with the blunt end of an axe. Physical pain is something she’s always been able to endure fairly well - years spent getting bruised and beat in endless sparring practice gave her that much, but the combination of everything crashing down at once and then waking up feeling like she’s just been digested by a group of jackals isn’t exactly ideal. 

When it seems like her own brain might devour her whole from the anxiety of so much uncertainty, the cell is opened again. Raya sits up so fast her vision fills with black dots. When the world clears, she makes no motion of surprise. 

Namaari looks more alert than yesterday, gaze colder than steel as she looks down at a wobbling Raya. She’s alone, and the door has already been closed behind her. 

“Thanks for stopping by, but I really don’t want any visitors at the moment,” jabs the younger. She wants to stand up, but there’s a good chance she’ll fall over if she tries. Plus she’d still be shorter than Namaari, whose presence seems to fill the entire room as she towers only a few feet from the cot. 

“Turn around.” Namaari doesn’t even acknowledge Raya’s words. 

Raya scowls at the command. 

“Why should I?” She challenges, purposely leaning back to show her unwillingness to cooperate. It hurts, but she wants Namaari to know that bossing her around won’t be an easy task. She seems different today, too - colder around the edges, more focused. It won’t be as easy to break down her defenses, that’s for sure. 

“If you want your wrist restraints cut off, turn around. If not, we can just talk like this. Personally I’m quite comfortable either way.” 

That changes things. Raya pauses, eyes narrowed in thought. Technically, allowing Namaari to free her from the restraints would still be giving in - but it doesn’t take much before Raya is leaning forward again, prepared to bare her wrists. An eye for an eye. Before she turns all the way, Namaari clears her throat. 

“I can see you scheming, so allow me to inform you that there are currently twelve sentries standing outside this cell door, each with a singular goal of ensuring you do not escape. And if you were to somehow defeat first me and then all of them, you will have to find your way to the exit of a stone fortress armed with approximately eighty more sentries on the inside alone.” She smiles sweetly. “But if you’d like to try, I’ll find it quite amusing to watch.” 

A smart retort boils up in the back of Raya’s head, but before she can say anything Namaari is coming forward, knife in one hand. She touches Raya’s shoulder to twist her a bit more, and Raya hates that she keeps her hand there even after she’s fully turned. 

The knife is sharp, so it only takes a short while of jagged sawing before the ropes begin to fall away. Despite the skillful knotting, the blade doesn’t touch her skin once. Namaari again touches Raya, this time to hold her arm still as she works at the final loop. Her fingertips are warm. 

When she turns back, Raya pretends she doesn’t notice the way Namaari’s eyes linger in poorly concealed concern on her freed wrists, which have been rubbed an angry red. She brushes her fingers over the marks, purposely cringing more than she should at the slight sting. The trap works. Namaari bites her cheek before raising her gaze back to Raya, who continues to rub at her wrists. When she sees Raya looking at her the concern instantly falls away, but it’s too late. 

_Got you, binturi._

Escape has just become a tiny bit more believable. 

“Well, thanks for not stabbing me in the back that time,” Raya says, while Namaari pushes her knife back into a sheath on her waist. 

“Look, princess-” 

“I said don’t call me that.” 

Namaari presses her lips together. 

“Look, Raya. I’m sorry, okay? I truly am. But we need you in order to fix what your mother-” 

“Stepmother.” Raya’s watching her arms as she stretches them to each side and above her head. 

“-what your stepmother broke.” Namaari takes a deep breath, clearly annoyed. 

_Good_ , Raya thinks. As far as she’s concerned, Namaari’s lucky she still hasn’t been punched. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

A sudden crossness enters Namaari’s voice when she next speaks, and it’s almost enough to make Raya look up. 

“You also have zero place to try and reprimand me about what _I_ did when you’ve been living up in your castle your whole life, surrounded by silk sheets and expensive food and parties held for no other reason than to show off wealth.” 

“Just because I was born a princess doesn’t mean I enjoy the role,” Raya retaliates, now testing the mobility of her wrists. 

Namaari scoffs loudly. 

“Yeah, and next you’re going to try and tell me you’re well-mannered and amenable. Who’s the lying binturi, again?” 

“You know _nothing_ about me,” Raya hisses, briefly raising her eyes to add some power to the statement before dropping them just as fast. For some reason Namaari’s comment hurt, but she tries to push it down. 

“I know enough to tell you that you’re selfish and a coward for hiding behind somebody else’s power for so long when you’re one of the only people who could have fought back!” 

Raya’s rage is simmering slowly over the edge, but she won’t give Namaari the satisfaction of showing it. She doesn’t even know what the other woman is talking about - fought back against what? Mutya is the lawful queen of Heart. Namaari doesn’t even live there, so her stepmother’s rule has little impact on her life. 

“The Heartlands may be a postcard of happy little towns and smiling faces, but you don’t get to lie to my face and tell me you haven’t seen what she’s done to the other lands.” Namaari’s voice is nearing a shout now. “For ten years, Raya, I’ve watched entire villages burn to the ground under the command of your family. I’ve had to leave dying people alone on the street because I’m not strong enough to carry three children _and_ their father.” 

Raya can feel her breath shortening into anxious bursts. What is Namaari talking about, why is she telling her these horrible things? Mutya may be cruel, but she isn’t evil enough to do anything like that. Right? 

“Are you even- fucking _look_ at me!” 

Too late, Raya realizes that she’s already responded to Namaari’s demand. Their gazes meet like the clashing of swords, and to her immense surprise Raya sees that Namaari’s eyes are wet - from anger or sadness she can’t tell. 

“I don’t-” Raya’s words are barely more than a whisper; meager after the force of Namaari’s speech. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Namaari.” 

The use of her name at the end seems to make Namaari pause. Her chest and shoulders heave as she stares down at Raya’s timid form. 

“She wouldn’t- she wouldn’t do anything like that.” Those are the words Raya speaks, but they hold no confidence. In her head, Raya’s remembering all the merciless things Mutya’s done over the ten years since her Ba’s death. Once, when Raya was a child, a songbird hit the window of her schoolroom and fell stunned to the balcony floor. Raya wanted to hold it till it was able to fly again, but Mutya got there first. Without a hint of remorse, she’d picked up its struggling body and let it fall over the balcony’s edge. _“You must learn to pick yourself up before somebody else does, dear. The only one you can rely on is yourself.”_ Raya cried herself to sleep that night. She was nine. 

Beyond countless other strange instances of cruelty, Raya is also beginning to recall the constant aura of secrecy around her step mother’s life as queen. She’d always brushed off Mutya’s disinterest in seeing Raya outside of required public settings as simple animosity, but still - Raya is the princess of the Heartlands. She should know something about its politics and relations with other lands, yet try as she might Raya can’t recall ever speaking a single word to her step mother about political relations. Some policies in Heart had changed at the beginning of her rule - a small tax imposition to fund public work and stricter crime laws, but other than that Raya hasn’t seen or heard a thing. 

All of a sudden, Namaari’s piercing stare feels too heavy. Raya hangs her head, picking at a thread on the side of the cot. This time, there’s no defiance in the loss of eye contact. The sun coming through the windows in thin rays illuminates dust swirling around when Namaari takes a step forward. Afraid she might get closer still, Raya lifts her head. Namaari looks at her in confusion, and her next words are hesitant. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” She motions with her arm towards the window side of the room. “You’ve been outside the Heartlands, have you not?” 

With some hesitation, Raya nods. 

“I have, but… we always travelled by sheltered boat or carriage and stayed at the abode of someone with close ties to my step mother. I never saw the towns we passed through.” A pause. “And the last time I left Heart was four years ago.” 

Namaari makes a sound of disbelief. 

“You mean to tell me that you, _Raya_ , actually listened when you were told not to leave the palace? And for four whole years? You can’t blame me for not believing that.” 

Not necessarily liking what Namaari is insinuating, Raya lifts her chin. She wishes she had some way to tie her hair up - it’s a wild mane around her head right now and she’s sure she looks ridiculous next to Namaari and all her polished grandeur. 

“I thought about it, but I couldn’t. My governess Sisu relies on her job to support her little siblings. I couldn’t just disappear and let them all down.” 

Almost immediately, Raya wishes she hadn’t said anything. Namaari’s eyes soften until she looks almost pitying, and if there’s one thing Raya hates more than being powerless, it’s being pitied. Her momentarily softened resolve freezes. 

“So no,” she spits out, guard shoved high and anger once again brimming, “I can’t make you believe me. But don’t forget that you lied to me first, _Dep La_. I’m not sure I trust your sob story either.” 

The nickname is the first thing that’s made Namaari flinch. It’s nothing but a quick twitch of her face, but even that’s enough to gather that Raya throwing the term in her face as an insult must have stung. 

The women stare at each other, searching. Namaari is the one to break the silence. 

“Fine. I’ll show you.” She pulls a length of fabric from a pocket in her pants. “I’ll have to redo the wrist wraps, but I’ll cut the ankle ones instead.”

Raya pauses, her brows drawn in consideration. If Namaari’s telling the truth, her entire life will essentially become a lie. The thought sends her stomach barreling. Years spent learning about Kumandra relations, shaking hands with nation representatives, and dreaming about visiting other lands - all plunged into insignificance. Still, she has to know - and something inside her burns with a desire to see what could have possibly pushed Namaari so far as to quite literally kidnap her. 

Settled on her decision, Raya nods begrudgingly and again turns so Namaari can work. She quickly ties the fabric, which is softer than the previous, then bends over to cut Raya’s ankles free. Sighing in relief, Raya stretches her legs out as far as they’ll go. Namaari stands, and when Raya joins her she reaches out to grip her upper arm and escort her out. 

“Don’t try anything you’ll regret.” 

Eyes trained ahead, Raya snorts. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

\-   
  
  
  
  
  


Namaari’s hand stays clasped on Raya’s arm as they walk swiftly through the fortress. With their quick pace and the guards surrounding them like a school of very angry fish Raya doesn’t have much time to admire the architecture, but what she does see includes white marble with dark accents, gold gild, and boxy pillars. When she peeks to her right, Namaari’s image is the picture of precision. She walks with focused intention, never missing a stride or going off-beat, and her shoulders pressed back perfectly inline with her spine give away the presence of dormant strength. It’s wildly different to the untamable, very near reckless Namaari whom Raya had first met, and in this moment it feels just that much easier to continue hating her. 

There’s no hesitation in the direction of their little journey, and before long Namaari draws them to a stop in front of a large arched doorway. She holds a hand up to call their escorts to a stop, then addresses them without turning her head. 

“We will continue alone.” 

Raya’s heart jumps. Either Namaari’s playing dumb or there’s something on the other side of this door that she isn’t so sure she wants to see anymore. Doubtless, without an entire army on her ass slipping away will certainly be more achievable. Two women carrying spears step forward to open the door, and Namaari tugs her onward. 

Together they pass through another wide hallway, and Raya is beyond surprised to discover that Namaari appears to be leading her outdoors. When they step through yet another wooden door and into the afternoon sun, Raya’s eyes flutter shut for a moment to enjoy the slanted heat which falls like a gift from the clear sky. Maybe she’s being dramatic, but the cell windows really weren’t cutting it. Unfortunately, the sunbathing doesn’t last long - Namaari, ever absorbed in her goal, takes them under a series of long shaded hallways. They’re still part of the fortress it seems, only they’re outdoors and away from the hub of activity. 

The prolonged silence is beginning to make Raya uncomfortable. She sneaks another glance at Namaari but the other provides no sign of either slowing or speaking, so Raya takes matters into her own hands. 

“Can I get maybe an ETA for our little adventure? My feet kinda hurt.” She’s clearly being sarcastic, but Namaari still scoffs and sends a small glance towards Raya’s feet. Without speaking, she jerks her head forwards in a gesture of generalized pointing. 

“The clock tower at the northern quadrant. Best vantage point in the city.”

Now it’s Raya’s turn to scoff. From their current position, the tower she assumes to be the right one appears to be at least a mile away, if not more - does Namaari expect her to sit pretty and cooperative while they walk that far completely unguarded? Plus, Raya may not exactly be a battle strategist but she’s pretty sure Namaari just threw away an invaluable piece of information to a very near enemy about this place’s internal security. 

“What?” questions Namaari after Raya scoffs and says no more. 

“Nothing. Just looking forward to our romantic stroll through a fortress, that’s all.” 

If Raya was hoping to press Namaari’s buttons - which she is - it works. The hand on her arm tightens, and Namaari offers no reply except a quickened pace that makes her gold earring bounce over her shoulder. 

Out here, breathing in fresh air and feeling the potential of a quick escape right at her fingertips, Raya senses her survival tactics melt from flight to fight: and in the current circumstances and considering Namaari’s very obvious attentiveness to her despite everything that’s happened, fight becomes a game of words. Raya’s whole body itches to get reacquainted with the comfortable weight and swing of her sword, but Namaari took it off her person while she was blacked out and Raya hasn’t seen it since. Honestly, anything with a sharp edge would suit her just fine right now - but she must bide her time until the right moment presents itself. The journey back will offer that opportunity, she’s sure of it. As long as they return using the same path, Raya’s been keeping close track of the changing surroundings and anything that might become useful in a dash to freedom. That’s the biggest reason she’s biding her time, though a small part of her does genuinely wish to see if Namaari speaks the truth about the state of the world outside Heart. She still doesn’t know where exactly they are, although judging by the humid heat and prominent color scheme of the guards she guesses Fang: the only nation she’d never visited even when she did travel. The irony of that thought strikes a warning note in her head, and even more uncertainty climbs its way to the top of an already tilting pile. 

Through countless backdoor paths and hidden routes they advance, until at last Namaari draws them to a final stop at the base of the tower she’d pointed out so long ago. Raya peers up to the top, and its immense height makes her dizzy. Smooth, pale stone juts into the sky from a square base, and far away at its peak glints a golden peak. Namaari speaks, and Raya drops her chin a little too fast. Her vision swirls. 

“Hope you’re also looking forward to a shit ton of stairs.” She releases Raya’s arm, and the influx of air to that portion of skin is icey in comparison. Namaari motions to the small but gaping door into the tower. “Ladies first.” 

If Raya thought the journey here was long, scaling a million crumbling steps with an angry warrior woman carrying very sharp knives on her ass the whole time takes centuries. They meet no other people on the winding staircase, which clings to the sides of the tower and boasts one very tall, very intimidating hole in the center that sinks into oblivion the higher they climb. Every once in a while Raya stumbles in the darker sections between windows, and each time she hears Namaari’s strained breath in the few seconds it takes her to regain her balance. The knowledge that she’s not the only one suffering immensely makes her feel a bit better. 

Eventually they reach a level where Raya can go no further because the stairs disappear into the ceiling. Namaari slips past her to push open a wooden trapdoor which she climbs through first, then offers a hand down to help Raya up. Raya huffs and ignores the offer, choosing instead to pull herself up despite her bound wrists. It takes a couple tries and several minutes of her looking like a complete fool, but she does effectively hoist herself up and into the sunny room at the top. Breathing hard but feeling triumphant, she immediately falls to her back to lie still for a moment. 

“You could have made that much easier on yourself by not being so damn stubborn, you know.” 

Raya rolls her head to the side, one eye glaring up at Namaari. The other stays closed to block out the bright sunlight streaming directly onto her face. 

“Why would I want your help.” It’s a statement, not a question, and the other woman shrugs. Raya’s mood is soured by how apparently unaffected she is from the climb. Besides a mild hint of fatigue in her voice, nothing else is out of place. 

“Suit yourself.” 

With a muffled groan, Raya rolls to her stomach to stand up. Her thighs burn, but she’s had enough of letting Namaari show off her strength - even if she’s only showing off in Raya’s own head. 

The taller woman turns away and rests her forearms on the raised stone barrier which forms a railing around the small space. From this angle, she looks lonely. A slight breeze ripples the hair on the opposite side of her face and her jaw is clenched. 

“You want to know what your step mother has done to this world?” She motions an arm out into the open blue. “Take a look, princess.” 

The genuine sorrow in Namaari’s tone draws Raya’s attention away from the nickname. Heart in her throat, Raya turns her gaze to where Namaari looks. 

At first, the scene which greets her isn’t alarming. Before them spans a small sliver of bustling cityscape, crowded almost beyond belief, and then fields of green separated by thin waterways. Then she looks beyond the canal. 

What must be at least a hundred wooden ships lie docked in wait along the coast; row after row of steel-plated destructive potential. From here they look like the toy boats Raya used to float in rivers as a child, but she knows better. Each is a beast of power and speed, loaded with enough gunpowder to destroy a castle and a trigger-happy crew to fit. Her eyes jump along the fleet in shock. A majority of them appear to be grouped around a port directly ahead, but they cling to either coastline for as far as the eye can see. Beyond boils a wide strip of sparkling sea, too cheerful for the mood. And then, a graveyard. 

Raya can feel the way her face screws up minutely as she takes it all in. Along the far coast, the bleached hulls of ships litter the land like bones picked dry by scavengers. The earth beyond barely resembles earth anymore. It’s scorched and black, strewn with pieces of unidentifiable debris and the long-lingering aura of destruction that’s not yet been patched over by nature. Barely anything green remains, in fact, except for snatches far off in the distance. Further and further this vision of death rolls over a realm where once prosperous towns bustled on the mainland; for the presence of man-made infrastructure, however disfigured, is clear. Horror, pure and disbelieving, fills Raya’s mind. She could fight back; defend Heart’s honor and her nation’s involvance in such desolation, but she doesn’t. Raya never would have thought Mutya, in all her cruelty, was capable of _this_ , but what reason would Namaari truly have to lie to her? 

“Our navy is the only thing which keeps up from becoming just another plaything of the Heartland.” 

Namaari hasn’t moved an inch. She’s a statue but for the slight movement of her hair and clothing as they’re rustled by the wind. 

“But with our growing population and your step mother’s wealth and power, it’s only a matter of time before our sliver of safety cracks apart entirely. You see now, Raya, why my people think you despicable by association. Why I felt no remorse at what I had to do, before I met you.” 

“And now you do?” questions Raya, turning to face Namaari. The movement puts her into the shadow of a nearby pillar. “What have I done to make you feel remorse, besides spit and fight?” 

She doesn’t quite know why she says it, but the question is out before she can stop herself. Namaari moves only her eyes to take Raya in. 

“Does it matter?” 

“I’m curious.” 

Now Namaari turns fully, resting just one arm on the wall so her torso is square to Raya’s. 

“Well you’re not exactly helping your case by reminding me of our fun little conversations earlier, Dep La.” 

The pet name and Namaari’s reluctance to answer the question send a shock of annoyance through Raya, but she doesn’t have the energy or desire to lash out. She scowls, and feels irritated that she even cares what Namaari thinks of her. They’re not friends. 

“Fine. Be difficult,” is her grumbled reply. Not wanting to look at Namaari anymore, she peers out into the sky. The scenery there has nothing to offer but pressing guilt and the beginnings of an emotion that’s beginning to feel a lot like despair, so she settles on watching tiny people move about just beyond the base of the tower. What kind of life must these people live: separated from their families, their homes; forced into an existence constantly burdened with the fear that tomorrow an entire army might come to wipe out everything left? 

Raya bites the inside of her cheek so hard it hurts. Maybe looking at Namaari isn’t actually so bad. 

Wind whistles softly. The ocean glints with dancing light. Raya tugs her hands through her hair despite the slight pain from knots, desperate for some sort of control to keep her mind stationary. 

“What am I supposed to do, Namaari?” It’s the first time Raya’s said her name without spite since she awoke. 

A silence so heavy it bends under the weight of the sky. 

“I don’t know, Raya. I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeeheheheh I know what you're all thinking, my darlings, but patience is key >:) Victory is all the more delicious when you've tallied in defeat long enough
> 
> .... also jesus christ i know im literally the one writing this but Namaari saying watch your mouth is making me FEEL some things hello hellO u can watch my mouth for free anyday 😳 
> 
> (Also did i just give Raya a traumatic childhood? ... perhaps.)  
> ((IM SORRY it wasnt in the plan but cmon this gals got some trauma. Plus now we get to see some gay soul healing??!? Scratch the sorry, you're all very welcome.))


End file.
